<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>gotta chance so won't you take it? by hot_damn_louis</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755907">gotta chance so won't you take it?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hot_damn_louis/pseuds/hot_damn_louis'>hot_damn_louis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Magic Mike (Movies), Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Journalist Stiles Stilinski, Lust, M/M, Mash-up, Pining, Slow Burn, Stripper Derek Hale, everythings worse in florida, literally just self indulgent, the crossover weve all been waiting for, the fact that the last tag exists cracks me up</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:21:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,621</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hot_damn_louis/pseuds/hot_damn_louis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a stripper was not a part of his 10-year plan. Or even his 5-year one, yet he had been stripping for almost 6. This was not the lifestyle he had picked out for himself when he had graduated high school, but it was a better option than dancing on the street like he had been when Dallas found him. It was supposed to be a way to make quick cash and have enough to save for a real job or college or something. </p>
<p>But he also kind of liked it. There was nothing more thrilling than walking onto a stage and having every person in the room want him, even if they were doing it selfishly. His therapist said it was probably a shitty way to get over self esteem issues stemming from a fucked up relationship he had as a teenager, but fuck it. He felt good when he would dance and he heard screams.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello again everyone! This is an entirely self indulgent Magic Mike/Teen Wolf crossover fic, because damn it, I love Magic Mike. I actually think it's a good movie, sorry not sorry. </p>
<p>I've included some of the original characters from the movie, because my only other option was to have Derek's manager be Peter, and it felt weird to have Peter manage Derek in a stripper context. </p>
<p>This also diverges relatively from the original plot of the movie, but y'all get the gist. It's following basic plot lines and concepts so *shrug*</p>
<p>Find me on Tumblr <a href="https://rain-or-clouds.tumblr.com/">here</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Derek preferred a quiet morning for construction. He hated when everyone was crowing about, acting like assholes and yelling like it was a frat party. It was a construction site, and he greatly preferred the guys who showed up to work and did the work like they were supposed to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Today was not one of those mornings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you saying, there’s no crew?” Derek asked, looking down at the site manager, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked around at the few solid guys he knew and the crowd of faces he didn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I hate unions, you know I hate unions,” Finstock said, waving his arms around. “I got you a new crew! Half the price, same manpower.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some new kid with a crooked jaw and a boyish look on his face walked past, looking around as if he had never been on a construction site before. He was even wearing sneakers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got these guys off of Craigslist,” Derek said, raising an eyebrow at Finstock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All he could do was shrug, which was telling enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Here Derek was, almost 27 years old, working a shitty construction job with a bunch of Craigslist nobodies who probably didn’t even know how to tile a fucking roof. Between this, his furniture, his car detailing, and the club, he had way too much on his plate to be teaching some new kid how to tile a roof and not shoot a nail through his foot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Derek muttered under his breath, walking away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His day only got progressively worse from there with every mistake the newbies made. None of them could do anything worth their paid time, and Derek was suddenly doing the work of several guys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The same kid who was wearing sneakers ended up helping him tile the roof, sitting beside him and handing him tiles as they went. “How long have you been working?” the kid asked, handing over yet another tile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Almost five in construction after my apprenticeship,” Derek said, grunting as he nailed another one down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Scott, by the way,” the kid said, pushing his floppy hair off of his forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had two bands tattooed around his arm and a charming smile, but without the tattoo Derek would have guessed he was still in high school. He had a charm though, something about him was both severely annoying and strangely likeable. He would charm girls pants off at the club, that was for sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek. Make yourself useful and hand me those tiles,” Derek said, gesturing towards the stack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the rest of the workday, Scott was following him around like a puppy. From task to task he was shadowing Derek, watching what he was doing, acting like a second shadow. Sometimes it was useful, but sometimes it was annoying as all hell. Derek wasn’t used to someone crawling all over him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the end of the day, they were all walking away from the site when Scott grabbed his arm, holding him back for a second. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, man, can I get a ride home you think?” Scott asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He was giving his best puppy dog look, the one that probably got him through life thus far. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking around at the site, at the scumbags that were the other Craigslist guys, this one was probably the best. Probably the only one tolerable for another work day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” Derek led the way quickly to his truck, motioning for Scott to get in. “Better not live too far.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, dude, I wouldn’t screw you over like that,” Scott said, smiling that thousand dollar smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would kill it dancing. But Derek wasn’t into the whole recruitment thing, that was Dallas’ thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles was making himself, and presumably Scott, dinner when he heard the rumble of a truck pull up outside of their apartment. He peaked out the window to see Scott waving to a scruffy, tall-dark-and-handsome type guy. The truck pulled away quickly, leaving Scott ambling up the walk to their front door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Honey, I’m home!” Scott called out as he opened the door, letting it swing shut hard and hit the frame. He waltzed into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it from the tap, chugging it down quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who dropped you off?” Stiles asked, walking back over to the pan on the stove, checking the edges of his burger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek. He’s a cool guy, one of the managers at the construction gig,” Scott said, filling his glass to chug another glass full. He finished with a sigh, wiping the back of his arm over his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So it’s working out?” Stiles asked, leaning his hip against the countertop. “Or are you going to keep couch surfing?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Scott said, pushing Stiles’ arm playfully. “You love having me on your couch every morning, taking up the only comfortable space to sit while you watch the news before work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s because I actually do work, at an actual office. I write news articles, Scott. I gotta stay up to date,” Stiles said, kicking his leg out at Scott. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You write the gardening section they put at the back. And you don’t even garden,” Scott pointed out, pushing past Stiles to get access to the fridge. He pulled out beers for the both of them, cracking them open quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you, Scott. It’s called starting somewhere. At least I’m making this journalism degree work for me,” Stiles said, grabbing his beer out of Scott’s hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you wasted all that time going to college,” Scott said, taking a long pull from his beer. He sat down at their tiny dining room set, his limbs sprawling in the seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not the one who pissed off mom and dad by failing out of my first term at college, dipshit,” Stiles said, grabbing the spatula. He gestured with it as he spoke, trying to get his point across. “And! I wasn’t the one who took a hundred bucks out of dad’s wallet to pay for a shitty tattoo,” Stiles added, gesturing towards the bands on his arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! I like this one,” Scott pouted, putting his hand over the tattoo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure you do, Scott. Do you want a burger or not?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott tossed a crumpled ball of paper at Stiles, smiling widely. “Yeah, you know I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles plated their food and brought it over to their tiny table, sitting down across from Scott, like they did most nights. It was nice to have a routine. Ever since they both moved down to Tampa, Dad and Melissa had been badgering them about being better brothers. They were supposed to hang out, be more than just step brothers who’s parents married when they were in high school. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were best friends first, to be fair, but with Stiles three years older than Scott, it was hard to connect completely sometimes. Especially when Stiles had flown through his journalism degree while Scott was not so school adept. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, come with me and Lydia to dinner tomorrow, yeah? We are going to meet up with some of her fancy law friends, and I’m sure they’d love to have you too,” Stiles said, raising an eyebrow at Scott. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, I don’t know,” Scott said apathetically, digging into his burger. He seemed far more interested in inhaling the burger in two bites than going out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, Scott, we never go out together. Besides, Lydia and I are off again and she’s back with Jackson, so it’s not going to be weird at all. No third wheeling, like last time,” Stiles promised, kicking at Scott’s feet under the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he didn’t answer, Stiles pouted at him, making whimpering noises like a dog. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, I’ll go. But if it goes past ten I’m going to go out somewhere else,” Scott said, kicking back at Stiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Okay, maybe Stiles was wrong, they didn’t really want Scott there with them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He forgot how much Lydia’s (and Jackson’s) friends were such dicks. They first started by asking Scott about his college plan, and then proceeded to berate him for not having one outside of ‘it didn’t work out’. Then they moved on to talking about some dumb lawyer shit that neither knew anything about, so it was really just Scott and Stiles sitting at a table full of people that hated that they were there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to head out,” Scott whispered, laying a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. He patted it twice before heading out of the restaurant, leaving Stiles with the nerds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They didn’t even bat an eye at his disappearance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek checked his watch again, timing out his night. He had another hour and a half to make some connections, convince a few girls to come out, and then head off to get ready for the performance. He was dressed nice, dark button up halfway open on his chest and nice jeans, the ones that he knew cupped his ass well. He didn’t work out for nothing, and at this stage in his life, he knew his body looked good. He didn’t have to feel ashamed about that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, dude,” someone said from behind him, catching his attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned to see Scott, the charmer from the construction site. They had the day off today as the plumbers came in, so he didn’t get a chance to see him. Sometimes Tampa was so small, running into people left and right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Derek said in return, nodding politely at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You going in?” Scott asked, nodding towards the building. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Derek said, looking up at the large sign that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhale</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was the one club he really knew the bouncers to, and they always let him in as long as his club kept advertising their club as the go-to pre-party spot in Tampa. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I come in with you?” Scott asked, sounding a little too eager. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could not fucking come in with Derek. He was wearing a baggy hoodie and poorly fitted jeans. He was even wearing the same sneakers from their job site, all caked in mud and dirt from stomping around a house build. He looked disheveled and, honestly, like shit. The patchy scruff on his face was really not helping anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not the way you’re dressed,” Derek said, huffing a sigh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please? I gotta blow off some steam,” Scott said, grabbing Derek’s arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kind of felt bad for the kid. Not that Scott needed his pity, but because it was clear Scott was some guy fresh from high school with no life plan outside of moving towards the next day. He looked like the kind of kid Derek was when he was that age, unsure of what he was doing and desperately needing a cash flow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you owe me one,” Derek said, gesturing for Scott to follow him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bouncer gave him a knowing look as they walked by, eying Scott like he was some sort of burden or evil spirit. “I owe you, Freddie,” Derek said as they walked by, knowing that he was going to be taken up on it eventually. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The club was thrumming with energy tonight. It was the first real day of summer, and the energy showed. There were throngs of young college kids who were looking to get drunk as a celebration for the term ending, and there was no reason that Derek wasn’t going to take advantage of that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After taking a stroll through the club, saying hi to who he needed to, Derek spotted what would be their target for the night. It was a group of sorority girls surrounding a girl with a sash that said ‘21st birthday’. These were the kind of girls that wanted to come out and have a good time, and they were easy to convince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Since you owe me, go talk to those girls,” Derek said into Scott’s ear, gesturing towards the group. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it?” Scott questioned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do a good job and we’ll see,” Derek said, shrugging. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched as Scott approached the group kind of nervously, talking with them. He warmed up quickly, his charming smile and outgoing personality clearly shining through. If only chicks talked to Derek that quickly, then he wouldn’t have to hunt down groups at clubs so frequently. When he approached them, they often thought he was scary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t have resting bitch face. He had resting scary face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he saw their body language keep building, Derek crossed over and interjected himself into the conversation. “Hey, I see you’ve met my friend,” Derek said, gesturing towards Scott. He looked between the two main girls, smiling at them in a way he hoped was charming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have. He’s trying to help us get drinks, since it’s her 21st birthday,” the blonde one said, smiling at the other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The birthday girl nodded, looking almost too sweet and innocent to be in the club. If Derek hadn’t seen the 21st birthday sash, he would have assumed her younger. She made a perfect fit with Scott. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No luck?” Derek asked, raising his eyebrows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re just trying to have some fucking fun!” the blonde shouted, aiming this last part at the neglectful bartender. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” Derek said, producing a card out of his pocket. He handed the two girls the card for Xcitement, the club he worked at. It was the card for their male dance revue. “If you’re looking for some fun, first round of drinks is on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott look at the card, look to his face, and then look back at the card. It was as if he was in shock, which was not necessarily unsurprising. He was doing a bad job of  hiding his shock, considering that Derek was attempting to convince these girls to attend, not to scare them off entirely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if he’s going to be there,” the birthday girl said, gesturing towards Scott. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, he’ll be there,” Derek said, grinning. “It starts in an hour. I better see you both there,” Derek said, giving them one last nod before pulling Scott away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until they were all the way outside that Scott decided to speak, pulling his arm out of Derek’s grasp. “What the fuck, dude? A male stripper?” Scott asked. Despite this outburst, he still followed Derek towards his car, trailing along after him absently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I’ll get you some cash for that help back there,” Derek said, unlocking the door to his truck. “If you stick with me tonight, there’s more than a little money coming your way,” Derek added, gesturing towards the truck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated the way that Scott’s dumb boyish face went through a hundred emotions all at once, each expressed fully on his face. He was such an open book, and this whole charm thing was both a blessing and annoying. The decision making, and the weighing of options, was the considerably more annoying part. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if there’s more money in this,” Scott said, opening the door to get in the truck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is,” Derek said. When he promised something, he held onto his promises. That was something that Scott was going to have to learn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Dallas said, looking at Derek. He looked over at the kid and back to Derek, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the corner of the stage. “How old even is this kid anyway? Where did you find him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He works construction with me,” Derek said. He looked to Scott for the other answer, looking intently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nineteen,” Scott said sheepishly, keeping his head down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dallas scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Nineteen! I can’t do anything with that, Derek.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, he can do props or something. He can lift heavy shit and help the stage handlers tonight, and that’s it. I won’t make him do anything more,” Derek said, looking over at Scott. He looked even more pathetic in the romantic lighting of the club. “He’s strapped for cash and doesn’t know he ass from his hands but he’s reliable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott made a face at this, as if he wanted to make some sort of retort. He merely stayed quiet, somehow reading that now was the moment to be the most quiet. There was something about him, something that Dallas must have liked, because after a few moments of silence, he nodded once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He pulled some sorority girls tonight?” Derek offered, looking at Dallas knowingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get outta here,” Dallas said, waving the two of them off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek hustled Scott into the backroom so that he could get ready, gesturing towards the couch in the back for Scott to sit on. “Welcome to the big show,” Derek mumbled, heading deeper in the back to grab his costumes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he returned, the other guys were all sitting around Scott, looking at him like he was some sort of animal in the zoo. “Guys, this is Scott. Scott, this is Boyd, Isaac, Theo, and Tarzan,” Derek said, gesturing to the others around the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Isaac lifted a hand to wave, looking up from where he was hand stitching the seam of his thong. “Nice to see some fresh meat around here,” Isaac said, giving a little nod. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You dancing?” Boyd asked, leaning down to shave over his leg again, scraping the razor over a spot on his ankle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott blushed, pressing his lips together tight. “I don’t dance,” he said, looking around at the other guys nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek could see how uncomfortable he was, and swooped in to talk for him. “He’s a props guy tonight. If you need something handled, ask him, yeah?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could hear Dallas welcoming in the parties in the main room, his loud cackle heard even in the back dressing room. He was getting everyone ready. They only had a few minutes left until everything started, which left only a few minutes for everyone to get dressed and ready. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek himself had already gotten into the first costume of the night. He was starting to get tired of the Raining Men routine, but it was gold. Coming up with new shit was not his specialty, and he would rather work with what went well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Extra greasy today, Mr. Magic?” Theo teased, stripping off his sweats and pulling a thong on, reaching down to adjust himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott turn his head away politely, looking away from him. It was always new, the way that they were all so comfortable with their bodies and with themselves. You had to be if you were a stripper, and clearly Scott was the kind of kid who changed in the bathroom stalls during gym. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got the correct amount of oil, if that’s what you’re asking,” Derek said, buttoning up his vest. He could almost feel the way his skin was slicked up where his top was rubbing against him. That feeling always reminded him of showtime. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Magic?” Scott asked, tapping his foot against the ground. He looked at Derek, confusion on his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haven’t you heard, kid? He’s Mr. Magic around this joint. Best stripper in all of Tampa,” Isaac teased, reaching over to slap Derek’s shoulder. “He’s the one who made all of us cock-rockin’ kings.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was something Derek was mildly embarrassed about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Being a stripper was not a part of his 10-year plan. Or even his 5-year one, yet he had been stripping for almost 6. This was not the lifestyle he had picked out for himself when he had graduated high school, but it was a better option than dancing on the street like he had been when Dallas found him. It was supposed to be a way to make quick cash and have enough to save for a real job or college or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he also kind of liked it. There was nothing more thrilling than walking onto a stage and having every person in the room want him, even if they were doing it selfishly. His therapist said it was probably a shitty way to get over self esteem issues stemming from a fucked up relationship he had as a teenager, but fuck it. He felt good when he would dance and he heard screams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Five minutes, boys,” Dallas said, poking his head into the dressing room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hope you like pressing sweaty ones, kid,” Boyd said, slipping into his own costume. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were fucked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tarzan was lying collapsed on the floor, high on pain meds for his knee. He had a partially torn ACL and some minor knee pain, but he frequently overdid it on his pain meds.This was an issue, but it wasn’t a Derek issue. The guy was quiet and an old friend of Dallas’, so it was distinctly Dallas’ problem first and foremost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell?” Dallas said, looking between the guys and Tarzan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tarzan was supposed to be the last of their solos. They did a group performance, then a solo, then the hot seats. It was scheduled out perfectly to give everyone enough rest, but yet here they were, down their last solo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek, can you go out again? The ladies love you,” Dallas said, clasping his hands in front of Derek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dal, I was just out,” Derek said, grabbing his cap and pulling it on backwards, shrugging. He wasn’t about to go dance another song, not when he was already exhausted from his last one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Theo? Break out something cool?” Dallas asked, gesturing towards him hopefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m working on something, but it’s only half a routine,” Theo said, shrugging. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Dallas could say anything else, both Boyd and Isaac were shaking their heads. Neither of them were choreographers, and they weren’t really the idea people either. Usually Derek and Theo choreographed everything, but they hadn’t had time for all brand new content. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you trust me?” Derek asked Dallas, looking at him point blank. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stared at each other a few moments, looking into each other’s eyes. Derek might be relying on his instincts and six years of trust, but if they needed to spare some time, he had a solution. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thing was, Dallas knew exactly what he was asking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek marched over to Scott, hauling him up off the couch. “Time to earn your keep, kid,” Derek said, pulling him towards the stage. “Take your clothes off, and try not to look like a total idiot,” Derek said, right before pushing Scott on stage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His instincts paid off. Scott, despite his awkwardness and his inability to look sexy taking his clothes off, didn’t do awful. He stripped down to his underwear fairly efficiently and prowled towards the sorority girls from earlier, who were sitting in the front row. The dark haired one, the birthday girl, received the lapdance of her life for the minute that Dallas let him grind on her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t even mind paying Scott out that night. He was a keeper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles was just getting home from a gardening convention (in Tampa! In the middle of June when it was hot as balls!) when he noticed Scott getting in as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was jumping out of the same truck from the other day, waving cheerily to the driver. He was wearing old basketball shorts and a sweaty cutoff shirt, rubbing his hand over his sweaty mop of hair. He seemed happier than he had been in a while. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t know you were suddenly into guys. I guess being queer runs in the family,” Stiles said, catching Scott’s attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott looked up as if he was caught red handed, his eyes wide with surprise. “What are you saying about being queer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You get out of a guys truck looking sweaty and disheveled like you just had sex. Put two and two together, Scotty,” Stiles said, walking back through the courtyard towards their apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, that’s Derek. My boss, remember? We were… at practice,” Scott said, rubbing his hand over his hair again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles scoffed, unlocking the door and pushing inside. He was grateful for a few things in life, but most importantly was A/C. “Practice?” Stiles asked, crossing the room to their window unit and standing in front of it, letting the cold air blow against his skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Hey, I’m gonna shower, but we can get dinner?” Scott said, moving quickly towards the shower. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Practice? What the hell was Scott practicing? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is this place?” Scott asked, looking up and around at the various costumes that were hanging from every inch. </span>
</p>
<p> <span>“It’s where we buy our costumes,” Derek said, weaving his way through the racks. He moved past the elephant socks and glitter, but not deep enough to hit the hardcore stuff. He grabbed a few thongs off the racks, holding them up towards Scott as if guessing his size. “What size underwear do you usually wear?”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“A medium. And does this really not have a back?” Scott asked, grabbing one of the thongs out of Derek’s hands. </span>
</p>
<p> <span>Derek fixed him with a look. “It’s a thong, Scott.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“But why?” Scott whined, trailing after Derek through the store, his hands touching bottoms that no one would wear at the club, even on pride night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek turned sharply, stopping Scott in his tracks. “Dallas thinks you have something, and he’s deciding to take you on. He liked you at practice, which means you’re getting suited up to start next weekend. It’s not that hard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles set his bag down once he got into their apartment, moving quickly to flop onto the couch. It was yet another day of writing stupid fluff pieces about gardening in Tampa, when he knew that no one gave a shit. Who even gardened in Tampa when it was so hot and muggy all the time? Moving here was not all it cracked up to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifted his legs to prop them on the coffee table, but there was a big box sitting out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A box full of thongs. And costumes. It looked like a role-playing sex box, which was not doing anything for Stiles’ suspicions that Scott was secretly queer as hell. This was not the box of a straight guy living his best life. This was the box out of an all male pool party fantasy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Scott?” Stiles called out, moving further into their apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” Scott said, his voice muffled by the bathroom door. “Out in a minute?” Scott called, clearly unsure of his own tone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, man, I know you said you weren’t joining me on the queer train, but this box out here says otherwise. Are you planning for some sort of sexy all male beach party? Or a weird thongs only party I don’t know about?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms over his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were the muffled sounds of Scott in the bathroom, doing whatever the hell he was doing. He said a few more ‘shit’s under his breath before opening the door, standing there with a razor in hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles looked down at his legs, somehow unsurprised to see them covered in shaving cream. “This is so not convincing me that you’re straight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not what it looks like,” Scott said, holding his hands up in his defense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell does it look like then?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a stripper.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There was something comfortable happening between the two of them. Something easy.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone! Thank you for the support so far. Here's another installment of a totally self indulgent fic that probably only I want in this world. </p>
<p>If you haven't read my other stuff, go check it out. This is like my 3rd full length fic in a month that I've published. I've been a writing fiend. </p>
<p>Follow me on <a href="https://rain-or-clouds.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> (yes my url is different than my ao3 name but it's only because i can't change my name here)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His baby brother? His best friend? A stripper?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew that Scott said he didn’t have to come, to check out his second weekend of working. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But holy shit. Scott had been a stripper for two weeks and Stiles hadn’t noticed anything. All he had noticed was Scott staying out late on the weekends, but that wasn’t anything new. He was kind of a party guy, and preferred a night out over a night in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was introduced to it by the guy who drove the truck. Derek. Stiles wanted to meet this guy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching his own best friend, his brother, strip to a country song while in only a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, and a black thong, was a new experience. He was torn between looking and not looking, unsure if seeing his little brother like this was an image he wanted seared into his brain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enjoying the show?” a guy asked from his right, his voice deep and rough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really,” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not into it?” the guy asked, raising an eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d be more into it if I wasn’t watching my baby brother,” Stiles said, turning sharply towards the guy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was hot. That was the first thing Stiles noticed, was the fact that he was hot as all hell. He had piercing eyes and scruff that highlighted his cheekbones. He was wearing a tight white tank top, showing off the fact that he had muscles for days. He was so Stiles’ type, it was ridiculous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re Stiles,” the guy said knowingly, flashing a million dollar smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was so clear he was trying to be charming, and Stiles was falling for it. He liked the smile, the small flirting lilt in his mouth, the way that he leaned in closer as he spoke. But he knew who Stiles was, which was a big red flag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You work here?” Stiles asked, raising his eyebrows at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek,” the guy said, sticking his hand out for Stiles to shake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to ignore the hand, pretend like this wasn’t happening, but he shook it anyways, letting himself touch Derek’s hand. For the few moments they shook hands, Stiles got to feel the way he had calluses on his palms, both rough and smooth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I gotta get back. You should stick around for the next performer,” Derek said, flashing another bright smile before jogging off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles waited for the next performer, looking around at the room full of women. He was clearly out of place, and he was not appreciating the weird looks he was getting from others around the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Waiting was worth it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome, Mr. Magic!” the announcer called into the microphone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was none other than Derek. Hot ass Derek, the one that Stiles was wanting to picture naked only a few moments ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His act had far more breakdancing than the ones before it, even the performers before Scott. He had a mix of dance moves and sensual grinding, making humping the air look immensely attractive. Stiles was drawn into the way he circled his hips and moved along the stage, giving the whole room a preview of how having sex with him would be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had half a mind to stay mad at Derek, to want to hate him for dragging Scott into this lifestyle. The other half of his mind was focused on what Derek was doing with his hips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was fucked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going out with the guys tonight,” Scott said, slipping a tank top on. “Wanna come?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna come hang out with your stripper coworkers? Sure,” Stiles said sarcastically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great, then get dressed,” Scott said, adjusting his hair in the mirror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles looked at him deadpan from his spot on the couch. “I was being sarcastic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All you ever do is go out with those lawyer snobs,” Scott said, turning towards Stiles. “These guys are fun, and they definitely do not talk about law as if it’s interesting. Plus, I thought you were over Lydia.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one simply ‘gets over’ Lydia. She’s ruined me for all other women,” Stiles said, making a face. “Fine, I’ll go with, but only so that I’m not so pathetic next time she calls,” Stiles said, agreeing to the outing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time they made it over, the table was in full swing, everyone already talking loud and comfortably, showing how much they had bonded together. It made Stiles feel mildly lonely, that no one he was friends with in Tampa would get rowdy with him only through conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Isaac greeted the two of them, standing and raising his beer in the air. “Come sit over here Scott,” he said, pulling him over to the open chair near him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only other open chair was the one next to Derek at the end of the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles took the chair smiling politely at Derek and the others. They didn’t take much notice, launching back into their stupid discussion of what kind of women were better tippers. They each had their own opinions, but it seemed that they agreed that cougars were more likely to tip big. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Riveting,” Stiles muttered under his breath, taking a sip of his beer. It was nasty cheap pitcher beer, but it was better than buying his own at this point. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not into the ins and outs of stripping?” Derek asked, glancing over at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah. Just came here because Scott asked,” Stiles said, smiling politely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bullshit,” Derek said, sipping his own beer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles looked at him blankly, not used to being called out in any way. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t have come out without wanting to,” Derek said, leaning back in his chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I’m a martyr or something? Only ever doing things for the good of others?” Stiles challenged, looking at Derek skeptically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe. But you also seem like you try to have fun sometimes,” Derek said, looking Stiles up and down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles ignored the way that the single look made him feel (attractive, wanted, hot, horny), and merely smiled smugly at Derek. “Try to have fun? Your definition is having women scream at you while you’re on stage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s just work. And only a part of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you do other things?” Stiles asked, actually mildly surprised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think stripping is enough to keep my lights on? I have other jobs, you know,” Derek said, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So which one is your favorite? Which job?” Stiles asked, actually interested. He wanted to learn more about Derek, even if he seemed like kind of a meathead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was like the loud of the bar had started to turn down around them, like their conversation wasn’t just more loud barbs in a loud bar. Stiles tried to ignore the way he focused in on Derek, on the way that this conversation was more interesting than any he had with his other friends. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, it’s furniture building. I’m trying to create my own small business, sell one of a kind pieces,” Derek said honestly. This was not something he shared lightly, but Stiles seemed cool and fun. He seemed like the kind of guy that might be interested for more than just his moves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you sold anything yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a table, but that was to Dallas, my boss at the club,” Derek said, gesturing down towards the guy in leather pants and a cowboy hat. “I’ve known him for a long time, so he’s obligated to buy something from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet the pieces are good though,” Stiles said, running his hand along the edge of his glass. No one mentioned their side gig if the pieces weren’t good enough to mention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You haven’t even seen one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So?” Stiles retorted. “Can’t I have faith that you might be a good carpenter? You’re a construction worker, aren’t you? That means your good with wood,” Stiles said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until after he said it that he caught the double entendre. He could feel blush rising in his cheeks, knowing that this was not the most opportune time to be propositioning some new co-worker of his brother’s. He didn’t even really know the guy outside of right in this moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m good with wood,” Derek said confidently. He was hoping that this comment made it clear that he was bi. If not, he wasn’t really sure how to be more obvious than that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles gave him a look, a knowing look, and turned away. “I’m kind of aware of that,” Stiles said, sipping in his beer. He was trying very hard to look nonchalant, but he couldn’t help but think of Derek’s performance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you did stick around to watch,” Derek said, leaning forward towards Stiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles leaned forward, as if to say something else, but he saw the waitress headed their way, arms laden with plates. He leaned back as she delivered food to the table. Even then, he kept his eyes locked on Derek. There was something totally and completely interesting about him, and not just what he was hiding underneath clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With Scott working all night every weekend and going off to better his dance abilities during the week, it left Stiles alone a lot more than he had anticipated. It was the furthest he felt from his brother, even when he moved down to Tampa first and they had been separated for nearly a year. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was hard to not be involved in his life nearly as much as he used to. Before, they would go out together and hang at restaurants with whoever’s friends were throwing something that night. They were never seen apart, and now they were rarely seen together. He was always going out to hang out with his stripper buddies, and they were always inviting him out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He also started seeing some sorority girl who had turned up at one of the shows. Allison. She seemed nice, kind, sweet. The kind of girl that Stiles had always pictured Scott dating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott was also writing really weird things on the grocery list now. He needed a certain kind of shampoo, and apparently a bunch of Nair. And a ridiculous amount of protein so that he could bulk up and get more muscle. Great. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stiles?” Derek called, catching his attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So the stripper man bought groceries. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, fancy seeing you here,” Stiles said, leaning on the edge of his cart as Derek approached, looking at him critically. “Didn’t think you would buy groceries. Just eat at restaurants and down protein shakes or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you think about me,” Derek said, clearly trying to be charming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha. Ha. So that’s a lot of beer,” Stiles said, gesturing to Derek’s cart, which was currently full of beer and chips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sandbar party tomorrow for the 4th. It’s like our pregame for the big 4th of July show,” Derek explained. He looked Stiles up and down, raising an eyebrow. “You’re coming to that, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To a sandbar party?” Stiles asked. Until this moment, he had never heard of one. In California, there were not really sandbars to have parties on, let alone exist on without getting pulled into the ocean by a quick tide. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll see you there!” Derek called, pushing his cart past Stiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek was somehow unprepared for what Stiles would look like in a bathing suit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was wearing tight yellow shorts, which revealed an expanse of pale skin and lean muscle. There were moles and freckles along his back and shoulders, marks that Derek wanted to touch, wanted to feel underneath his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He worked around attractive people all the time. He had stripper friends all across Tampa, and he worked with some of the hottest guys in the city. Even then, none of them compared to Stiles. No one compared to the way he moved both confidently and clumsily in his own skin, tripping over the ledge as he got into the boat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you take a picture, it will last longer,” Stiles said, not even looking over at Derek. He pulled the sunglasses off of his eyes, propping them up on his head. “Didn’t your parents teach you that staring was rude?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll take a picture, if you’ll let me,” Derek said, leaning back against the rail of the boat, knowing that this position highlighted his tanned body under the sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I’ll let you run some sunscreen on later. That might satiate you, since you seem to lust after me at every moment,” Stiles said, knocking his knee against Derek’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe? And since when have I been lusting after you. I’m a perfect gentleman,” Derek said, reaching over and snatching the sunglasses off of Stiles’ head. He slid them on his own face, smiling at Stiles smugly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles merely rolled his eyes, looking back out across the water as they approached the sandbar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandbar parties were something of Derek’s teenage life. Whoever had a boat, or had access to a boat, would drive out onto the sandbar at midday and they would stay until the sun started to set. It was the one place they could get away with drinking without a fear of cops, and as long as they packed away their garbage, they never got caught. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they were all settled, Derek realized that more than just their usual crew were invited. Some of the girls from the next club over had arrived, their neon bathing suits standing out against tanned skin and toned bodies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched Stiles glance over the other women, but never linger on any of them. He preferred to walk the shoreline than talk to the girls, like the other guys had taken to. Scott had pulled his new girlfriend on his lap, holding her to him despite the heat. Each of the other guys had picked out some girl to flirt with, and even Dallas was getting in on a little bit of the action. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek walked out to where Stiles was standing near the water, bumping shoulders with him to announce his presence. “Hey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your friends boring? Those girls not entertaining?” Stiles asked, gesturing with his beer towards the larger group of people. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah. Not really what I—” Derek started rubbing his hand over his head. He was distracted by someone walking his way, the girl looking considerably more familiar the closer she got. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles turned to look at who it was, his expression darkening at the girl who was making a beeline for Derek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Der! Babe!” Braeden said, pulling Derek into a side hug, pressing a kiss to Derek’s cheek. “It’s been too long since I’ve been invited out on one of these,” she added, glancing towards Stiles pointedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is Stiles. Stiles, this is Braeden. She’s a psychology major?” Derek said, looking for confirmation from her. When she nodded, he continued. “And she was doing some sort of project last year studying us strippers,” Derek finished. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you,” Stiles said politely, nodding to her. He seemed sort of uncomfortable, like for the first time he truly did not want to be where he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’re a cutie. What do you do?” Braeden asked, laying a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a journalist,” Stiles said. He attempted to subtly try to shrug her hand off of his shoulder, but she gripped him, her manicured nails digging into his skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s fun. So normal and regular,” Braeden said, looking him over. “I like this tiny little shorts. They show off how good your legs look,” Braeden continued, giving him a more obvious once over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stiles said, tugging at the edges of his shorts, as if that would make them longer. “Just regular old me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek could see the way that they were interacting and swooped in, grabbing Braeden’s arm and smiling at her. “You don’t have a beer, and it really looks like you need one,” he said, shaking his own bottle a little as a gesture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked between him and Stiles, giving Derek a wicked grin. “Sure, lead the way Der-bear,” Braeden said, gesturing for him to go first. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked away from Stiles, even though it pained him mildly, and started towards the cooler that they had half buried in the sand. He knew something was on her mind, based off of her face alone. She was so sneaky when she wanted to be, and because of her being close to becoming a psychologist, she was apt to psychoanalyze him every once in a while. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you like that guy,” Braeden said, hooking her arm into Derek’s. “Enough that you want to keep me away from him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s Scott’s brother,” Derek said, gesturing to where Scott was sitting with his girlfriend. “He’s sort of off limits.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Scandalous,” Braeden commented, smirking at him. She let him go to grab a beer, cracking it open. She immediately chugged half of it, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “So what are you going to do about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing. Flirt with him. Hang out,” Derek shrugged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you like him more than I thought,” Braeden teased, pushing at Derek’s arm. “And he must like you, since he’s staring at the two of us and sending daggers my way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek glanced over to where Stiles was, catching him watching the two of them as if he had something on his mind. So he was jealous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen you this keen on someone, and I’ve seen your fair share of hookups,” Braeden said, looking at him intently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t pretend like you know all about me,” Derek grumbled, displeased at this topic of conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know enough to know that he’s different. So why aren’t you pursuing him? Is it because he’s a guy and you’re worried about homophobia? Is it because he’s that kid’s brother?” Braeden asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about all of the above?” Derek said in return, finishing off his beer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked away from Braeden, completely over the entire conversation. He headed back to Stiles, knowing that Braeden was watching, knowing that probably others were watching too. It wasn’t often that he took an interest in someone, and this was probably considerably more notable than any of his other conquests. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You already tired of your girlfriend?” Stiles asked, gesturing vaguely towards Braeden. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not my girlfriend,” Derek said, shrugging. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He noticed the way Stiles untensed, suddenly considerably more relieved than before. That was satisfying, that Stiles was showing signs that he was into him. It was nice to be wanted, not because of his dancing but because of who he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what’s the deal with these sandbar parties? I’m from California and the beaches are frequently not as nice and warm as they are here,” Stiles said, kicking his feet in the sand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought California beaches were supposed to be sunny and filled with hot women,” Derek said, starting to walk along the water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles trailed after him, his fingers tapping against the glass of his beer bottle. “I lived in Northern California. Things are often cold and unpleasant.” He shrugged, taking a longer step to catch up with Derek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The only bad thing here are the hurricanes,” Derek said, shrugging. “But I’ve never really lived anywhere else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Never really lived anywhere else?” This was perplexing to Stiles, who despite only living in three different places, considered himself to be relatively well traveled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tampa born and raised,” Derek said, looking down at his hands. “But I like it here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometime you’ll have to come to California. Redwoods as tall as skyscrapers, green as far as the eye can see. Beaches that have cold water instead of warm,” Stiles said, spreading his arms out around him. “Not that this isn’t beautiful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise?” Derek teased, smiling at Stiles. This smile was a genuine one, not the one he put on to charm people. This was one out of actual excitement and happiness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise. Then you can see the small town that made me,” Stiles said, laughing. He pushed at Derek’s arm again, starting to walk. He wanted to flirt so bad, but he knew that hooking up with Derek was more than just that. It would always be more than just that. For now, he was ready to build up a strong, fun friendship. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” Derek agreed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something comfortable happening between the two of them. Something easy. Conversation didn’t come easy to Derek, not unless he was trying to charm someone’s pants off. And Stiles usually overstepped his bounds, talked too much, or stuck his foot in his mouth. It was easy between them, and even when things paused for a second, it didn’t get hard to start talking again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you know you can always talk to me, right?” Stiles said, out of the blue. He wanted to smack himself for saying it. “Like if something is happening with Scott, or you, or you need help,” Stiles continued, feeling cringier by the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a heavy pause, and Stiles was immediately concerned that he said the wrong thing. He barely knew Derek, why would he even be offering that? Was he coming across as too weird?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek nodded seriously, giving him an intent look. “Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott, being 19 and not as experienced as the rest of the guys, was often a sloppy mess at the end of a party night. They went out on Sunday as a celebration to ending their weekend, and Scott was trashed only a few drinks in. And, of course, it was Derek’s responsibility to take him home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek winced before knocking on the door, hefting Scott up onto his shoulder. He waited a painfully long few seconds before Stiles answered. He looked disappointed more than anything, sighing at the sight of the totally sloppy Scott. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Derek said, smiling. He was not exactly totally sober himself, and he was trying to hide the fact that he was starting to feel it hit him harder. He should not have smoked out with Theo before heading to drinks, because being both a little tipsy and high in front of Stiles was not something he had ever wanted to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bring him in,” Stiles said, opening the door wider for the two of them to fit in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek dragged a stumbling Scott in, depositing him on the couch. When he straightened up, he saw a redheaded girl sitting at the small dining table. She looked totally miffed and put out, raising an eyebrow at Derek judgmentally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll just be going then,” Derek said, nodding to Lydia. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles followed him to the door, leaning against it out of view of his dinner date. “He’s going to be okay, right?” Stiles asked, nodding towards Scott.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just drunk,” Derek said, grabbing the doorframe. “Sorry for interrupting your date,” Derek added. He thought maybe he was picking up vibes from Stiles, but this sort of sealed the deal against that. He definitely was not getting the same vibes as he thought if Stiles was on a date with some beautiful girl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a date, just a friend from college,” Stiles said, leaning up against the door frame, bringing their faces closer together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek breathed in quickly, wanting to capture this moment, even in his slight brain fog. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take care of Scott, okay? I can’t—” Stiles broke off shaking his head. “He’s the only family I have out here, and it’s my job to take care of him after his whole mishap at college. Just… don’t let him drive, okay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, of course,” Derek said, nodding seriously. It was sort of a weird request, the no-driving thing, but it was easy enough. Derek frequently drove the two of them everywhere anyways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles reached out and brushed his thumb across Derek’s cheek. Instinctually, Derek leaned against the touch, wanting (hoping) that it was something more. “You’ve got a little glitter on you,” Stiles said, pulling his hand away and rubbing it on his pants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s life as a stripper for you,” Derek said, raising his eyebrows jokingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Mr. Magic, get outta here,” Stiles said, pushing at his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek winked before turning around, walking out of the complex. Before it was totally out of sight, Derek turned to look back at the door, hoping to see Stiles one more time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was still standing there, watching Derek slip off into the night. He waved at him quickly, shutting the door behind himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck. Derek was such a goner for him. Not even in a sex way, but in a completely romantic, I-want-to-be-with-you-forever way. This was wildly and totally unexpected.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I’ve got work in the morning,” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know if I wanna go party all night and turn up hungover,” he added, raising his eyebrows at Derek. </p>
<p>“Fine, one drink then. Just one,” Derek said, staring right back at Stiles.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for the kudos so far! Since this is my own self indulgent creation, I wasn't expecting anyone to care, but here we are. Lemme know what you think so far! Next chapter is the thrilling conclusion.</p>
<p>Follow me! <a href="https://rain-or-clouds.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>End of the day that next Sunday, Dallas called everyone back in to the main room after the performance, passing out shot glasses and looking smug as all hell. This was the conniving, money driven Dallas. The one that put Derek in charge of the books and used his image and name to bill the club when he realized how popular Derek’s dancing was. This was the same look Dallas gave Scott when he realized he was a good dancer at his first practice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got an announcement to make!” Dallas said, clambering onto the stage quickly, holding his shot up high. “Hush up, you dicks!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek leaned back in his chair, raising his eyebrows at Dallas, waiting for this magical new announcement. There were a few things this could be about, but knowing Dallas, this could truly be about anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve secured the club in Miami!” Dallas shouted, raising his shot to the sky. He downed it quickly, releasing a hard breath. Everyone followed suit, cheering a little at the announcement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Double the occupancy, a larger stage, and a whole new batch of ladies for the cock-rockin’ kings to charm,” Dallas said, smirking at all of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck yeah!” Theo said, slapping hands with Boyd, the two of them cheering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While the rest of the room broke out into cheerful conversation, Derek kept his head down, smiling privately to himself. He barely noticed Dallas jumping down and making a beeline towards him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thinking about your 7%?” Dallas asked, clapping Derek on the shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“7%? I thought we agreed on 10%?” Derek asked, lifting his head to look at Dallas. “I do the bookkeeping, and a lot of the promotion, and we originally agreed on something higher than 7%,” Derek added, pushing Dallas’ hand off of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, now. You’ll get your 10% eventually. After we are making double the money we have here, then I can secure you that much,” Dallas said, nudging Derek with his knee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was unlikely. Dallas was not necessarily the most reliable, and if Derek didn’t take his own cuts out when he was doing the bookkeeping, he might never get paid by Dallas. As it was right now, Dallas was barely paying any of the dancers. They were all getting tipped, so that meant shitty pay to Dallas. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s argue later,” Dallas said, ending the conversation. He moved on to talking with the other guys, acting cheerful as if this was the best thing in their careers. He was acting like there was nothing wrong with cutting Derek out of his percentage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was loan day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek got out the 10k in cash he had locked up in his safe, bundling it and stashing it in his secure briefcase. He even shaved, wearing his reading glasses so that he would look older and smarter. The suit he was wearing was an old suit of his uncles, and it fit slightly wrong, but it was close enough. When he looked in the mirror, he looked like a respectable business owner, not a stripper or construction worker or car repairman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stuffy office that he had to wait in was all neutral tan tones. It made him almost more nervous, with nothing to look at. He ended up bouncing his leg, nervously waiting to be called into the cubicle to talk to the agent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was a small little thing, a different person than the guy he talked to two weeks ago. She was clacking away at a keyboard with manicured nails, looking perfectly put together and boring as all hell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodmorning,” Derek said, sitting down across from her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To you too,” she said, taking one glance at him. She blushed immediately, typing a few more things into the computer. “I’m just pulling up your account with us,” she said, clicking through a few things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It should have all my details in there, I am just finalizing the loan with my down payment today,” Derek said, patting his briefcase. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, yes, I see that. Can I get your date of birth to confirm this here?” she asked, glancing between him and the screen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked down at her name tag. Judy. “December 1st, 1988,” Derek said, trying to get a peek at her screen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here we are,” she said under her breath, humming to herself. “It says here that you have insufficient credit,” she said, her voice turning soft and solemn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I work for companies that deal almost exclusively with cash,” Derek said, opening his briefcase and pulling out the stacks of money. “The last agent, Mr, Donaldson, said that I could get the loan anyway with a sizable down payment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy looked at the money and back to the screen, clicking through a few more things. She looked more and more concerned by the moment, her eyes pinching at the edges. She glanced between him and the screen again, her lips twisting up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t approve this until your credit score raises,” she said simply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but I was told that a down payment was fine until I could raise that—” Derek started, looking in his briefcase for paperwork. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy shook his head before he could finish, her lips pressed together. “That doesn’t matter. You are not approved for this loan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew when he was losing, when he was finished. He packed his money back in his briefcase, closing it tightly. “Have a good day,” he said politely, leaving the office as quickly as possible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held everything back until he got into his truck, tossing the briefcase onto the passenger seat. He pounded the steering wheel with his fists, letting out a loud sob. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The loan was for his furniture business. The loan was supposed to be the thing that could get him out of stripping, that could let him have something more than his body in this life. He was supposed to start his new business, build furniture and sell it. He was ready to be more than Mr. Magic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was so fucked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek was well aware that showing up at Scott and Stiles’ place unannounced on a Wednesday night was probably bad social etiquette, but he couldn’t spend the night alone. The meeting he had earlier with the loan people was still ringing around in his head, and he wanted some company to help erase that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(He wanted to banter with Stiles, talk to him, more than he wanted to see Scott. But he wasn’t going to tell them that much.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knocked three times, waiting for them to open the door. It was hot in Tampa, even for the evening, and Derek was forced to wear a loose linen shirt that was not really his type of clothing. It was the odd shirt out in his wardrobe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles opened the door, a few emotions flashing on his face as he saw Derek. “Hey,” Stiles said, opening the door further to let him in. “What’s up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought we could go out tonight,” Derek said, stepping into the apartment. When he saw Scott, he gave a nod, smiling. “Hey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go out?” Scott asked, his face lighting up. This was definitely one of Scott’s new favorite things about having a group of older stripper friends. He couldn’t get into bars on his own, but Derek knew enough bar owners in the city that those he knew would give a pass for Scott as long as he wasn’t stupid about things. Scott really liked that part. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, figured we could get some drinks, maybe go dancing or something,” Derek said, shrugging. He honestly didn’t care that much, as long as he was erasing today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got work in the morning,” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know if I wanna go party all night and turn up hungover,” he added, raising his eyebrows at Derek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, one drink then. Just one,” Derek said, staring right back at Stiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I bring Allison?” Scott said, his voice trailing back into the apartment. He came out only a moment later, shirt changed, phone in hand. He was already dialing Allison without a word from anyone else, pressing the phone to his ear as he called her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One drink,” Stiles said, smirking at Derek. “And no, you can’t trick me into doing more.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was good enough for Derek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They quickly got into Derek’s truck, deciding to meet Allison at the bar rather than go pick her up at her apartment near the college campus. Even then, Scott looked longingly out the window, sitting in the back so he could think of his dear Allison all the way to the bar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles sat up front, which was sort of strange for the two of them. It meant that they had to talk, and Derek liked talking with Stiles. He wanted to talk about everything and anything with him, but that was limited with Scott in the car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This truck is nice,” Stiles said, picking at the plastic wrap on the dash. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t peel that up,” Derek said, reaching over to smooth it back down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why? What kind of crazy person leaves the plastic wrap on their car?” Stiles said, leaning back in his seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When I go to sell this, I can peel the plastic off and have the entire dash looking brand new,” Derek said, eyes watching the road. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Stiles laugh, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll have to remember that next time I buy a phone. I’ll just keep all of the plastic wrappings on it so that it stays nicer longer,” Stiles said, poking fun at Derek’s logic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No reason why you shouldn’t,” Derek said, playing into it. He was aware his logic was stupid, but he was overly cautious about a few things. So what. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you make enough money between your, what, four jobs? Why are you so worried?” Stiles asked, leaning back into the seat, relaxing into it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek didn’t really want to bring it up, but now he felt like he had to, to explain why they were going out. “I’m trying to start a furniture business, and I got turned down for the loan I needed today. Even though I have ten thousand down for it,” Derek said, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit, dude, I’m sorry,” Stiles said, looking over at him concerned. “That’s really fucked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what are you going to do now?” Stiles asked, running a hand over his hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek shrugged. “Try and build some credit, I guess. That’s the one thing I don’t have, but we do all cash so I never had to think about that until now,” Derek said, making a face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you ever need help like that, my friend Lydia is super smart and her boyfriend is an accountant, so he knows all about stuff like that,” Stiles said, brushing dust off of his jeans. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d do that for me?” Derek asked, glancing over at Stiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, of course. We’re friends, you know,” Stiles said, tilting his head back against the seat, looking at Derek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could take friends, even if Stiles only wanted to go out for one drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To say that Scott’s career as a stripper was taking off was accurate, but more accurate would be saying that he was becoming immensely popular, very quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Derek went out, he always got his usual screams. He got the usual amount of tips, and people loved Mr. Magic. Since his schtick had a lot more dancing than the others, the women were often more impressed by his moves than by anyone else's. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thing was, Derek didn’t really have the charm. He was never quite sure how to look at a woman and charm her pants off. Scott had that charm, and he was working it every night. He might not have been the best dancer, but damn he could move his hips and smile his way into getting tipped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plus, he was developing all brand new routines, ones that fit him. None of the other guys had really launched a new routine in a few months, relying on the five or six they had in their back pockets. New routines meant new costumes, which meant spending money to make money. No one was particularly interested in that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was fresh, he was new, and he was exciting. Which meant that Dallas liked him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so fucking impressive,” Dallas said, grabbing the back of Scott’s neck and pulling him close until their foreheads were touching. “You know how to make those women give up all of their money.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Scott said stupidly, a grin plastered on his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When we get to Miami, you’re getting a cut. Ten. Per. Cent. I’m promising you that,” Dallas said, poking his finger into Scott’s chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What the fuck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ten percent was supposed to be Derek’s cut. He was shafted from 10 to 7, all because Dallas thought that he had to earn his way to a full ten, and yet here he was, offering Scott everything that he was supposed to get. Fucking Dallas and his bullshit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When everyone started to disperse for the night, Derek grabbed Dallas’ arm, pulling him back. “What was that back there?” Derek asked, gesturing towards Scott. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just rewarding our little upstart,” Dallas said smugly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And giving him a higher cut than me,” Derek said, shaking his head. “I’ve put in five years with you, and he gets a higher cut?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dallas nodded, clapping Derek on the shoulder. “Come up with some new shit, and you’ll get that ten that you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked away from Derek, letting out a whoop of joy as he walked out of the bar. He was completely oblivious to the fact that he betrayed Derek, and he was likely never going to apologize for it either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The idea of moving to Miami was just that much less desirable, when Derek thought about it like that. He didn’t want everything handed to him, but he felt as if he had deserved the ten percent that was originally offered to him. That percentage was supposed to cover all of the extra things he did for the club, and Scott, having done none of those things, was going to earn more than him as a cut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mini golf?” Stiles asked as they approached the counter, elbowing Derek in the side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s an American past time,” Derek said, elbowing Stiles back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott ignored them both, heading straight up to the counter. He got their clubs and balls,  juggling them in his two hands. “Here,” he offered, holding them out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek immediately snagged the blue club and ball, looking at Stiles for a challenge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t make me be pink,” Scott said, looking meaningfully at Stiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just want me to be pink because I’m queer,” Stiles said, making a face at Scott. Almost immediately after saying it, he glanced at Derek nervously, clearly forgetting his company while admitting he was queer aloud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blue is for bi,” Derek offered, holding up his own club and ball. He knew that in order to actually get with Stiles eventually, he would have to offer that information. Doing so in front of Scott was not necessarily his plan, but Scott was slowly becoming a close friend of his, and he doubted that that particular fact would stay secret with Stiles in the long run. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles smiled at this, raising his eyebrows at Derek. “Finally, Scott, you’re the minority,” he said, taking the pink club and ball from Scott’s hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! Weird,” Scott said, shrugging. He started off towards the course, totally oblivious to anything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s up with him today,” Derek said, gesturing towards Scott. He was acting kind of weird, but that wasn’t necessarily new. He was often lost in his own head. </span>
</p>
<p> <span>“Allison wants him to meet her parents tomorrow,” Stiles said, shrugging. “He is already freaking himself out about it,” Stiles added, making a face. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“What would be bad about that?” Derek asked, shrugging. He understands a little bit of general nervousness, but not a total personality change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They don’t know he’s a stripper, and she doesn’t want them to know, so they’re deciding to lie about what he does as a job. Apparently her parents are super religious traditionalists or something. If they found out that she’s been having sex with him, they might disown her,” Stiles said, tossing his golf ball up and down in one hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s fucked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right? It’s as if they think Allison’s not going to go away to college and have boyfriends. We’re in Florida, for chrissakes. People come here specifically to party,” Stiles said, shrugging. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you think we love to party,” Derek said, bumping his shoulder against Stiles’. “C’mon, I wanna own you at mini golf.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re on, big guy.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>***</span><span><br/></span> <span>Stiles opened the door on a Thursday afternoon to Derek, who was standing there in all of his glory. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Not that Stiles was ogling him. He was, but he was trying not to be too obvious about it. He had weighed the pros and cons, asked Lydia, and even considered telling Scott he was into Derek. That didn’t mean that he was going to embark on a relationship based off of a month of hanging out and partying. Even if he wanted to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, come in,” Stiles said, leaving the door open and walking back into the kitchen, pressing a few keys to shut off his laptop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Scott here? We’re supposed to have practice in a few,” Derek said, looking around the apartment as if Scott was just going to pop up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, he should be home relatively soon though. He went to the store to get some eggs and lettuce,” Stiles said, sitting down in one of the dining chairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek never really looked nervous, but the blank expression he had on currently was as close as he got. It was sort of his catch-all expression for when he didn’t want people to read him, which meant that something had happened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been working on a new routine for a while, wanna see? I need some outsider opinion,” Derek said, scuffing his foot against the floor. He looked at Stiles from under his lashes, looking so sweet and hot at the same time. </span>
</p>
<p><span>He was giving Stiles a complex. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Sure,” Stiles said, gesturing for him to proceed. He was trying to ignore the nervous lump that had formed in his chest. He couldn’t help but think that this meant more, but he was so self doubtful. He didn’t want to be rejected, and preferred to hang back until the last moment, but that was not something that was necessarily applicable here. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>He watched as Derek started into a few dance moves, almost prowling towards him like a predator. He mimed ripping his shirt off, rolling his hips as he advanced towards Stiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(This alone was enough to fuel the lusty, horny side of Stiles. The side that wanted to jump Derek’s bones and feel what those hips could really do.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He straddled Stiles, hands gripping the back of the chair, strong forearms framing Stiles in. His biceps flexed as he moved downwards, putting only the gentlest pressure of his body on Stiles’ lap. He rolled his hips towards him, moving in a way that Stiles had never had another partner do, ever. Derek’s hips were circling, only barely grinding onto Stiles. He was teasing, one hip circle at a time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tilted Stiles’ chair back slightly, pushing him back and continuing the onslaught of grinding and circling. It took all of Stiles’ willpower not to harden in his pants, not to touch Derek, and not to lean up and kiss him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Derek rightened the chair again, Stiles let out a hard breath, tilting his head back. He was squeezing his hands into fists at his sides, wanting to feel Derek’s skin and reach up under his shirt, feel the abs that he knew were there and— </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can touch,” Derek murmured, as if he was reading Stiles’ mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles’ hands flew to Derek’s waist, shoving up underneath his shirt. He let his hands trace along Derek’s back and front, scratching down his skin with blunt nails. Derek leaned in until their foreheads were pressed together, breaths mingling in front of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, you’re hot,” Stiles said, closing his eyes and letting himself feel Derek completely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek slowed, putting more and more weight onto Stiles’ lap. He leaned in and kissed him, firmly, moving his hips in a tantalizing way. He could feel that Stiles was hard, and smiled into the kiss, knowing that was exactly what he wanted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles opened his mouth and turned the kiss filthy, his hands pulling Derek close and tilting his chin up, giving him full access and bringing them as close as possible. He liked the heat between them, the way that Derek caged him in and held him there. He wanted to be closer, to be naked, to be anything more than making out in the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Stiles murmured, breaking apart from Derek, breathing heavy. He pressed a few light kisses to Derek’s neck, tugging at his shirt. “You definitely don’t need any practice,” he added, tugging harder when Derek wouldn’t move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know if we should do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles pulled his head back to look at Derek, hands stilling where they were tugging at his hem. He dropped his hands into his lap, trying to ignore the heat of Derek on top of him. “Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek closed his eyes, letting his head droop, his forehead almost touching Stiles’. “I don’t want us to be a fling. It can’t be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because of Scott?” Stiles asked, leaning forward until their foreheads pressed together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Because I don’t want to fuck this up. Because I want to do things right, and fucking you on a random Thursday is not the way I wanted to start things,” Derek said, shaking his head slightly. “There are many reasons why right now is not the right time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re rejecting me,” Stiles said, slightly confused. This was not exactly where he anticipated the conversation going. He liked the intimacy, the insistence, the way that Derek spoke like they were important.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had shared so many beers together, laughed shoulder to shoulder while hanging out with the guys, talked when Scott wasn’t there and no one was watching. When Stiles thought about it, he had hung out more with Derek in the past month and a half than he did with Lydia, or any of his other friends living in Tampa since he moved a year ago. He really liked Derek, and not just because he was hot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not rejecting. Just pausing,” Derek said, sliding away from Stiles. “I should probably go, I’ll just call Scott.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll see you then,” Stiles said, shrugging. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched Derek walk out of the door, leaving him alone in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure how he felt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek was getting ready, slipping into the new costume he had for his new routine. He had a military chic thing going on, with straps and buckles that toed the line of fetish but kept it simple and streamlined. He was ready, to strip off his shirt and reveal the harness like military gear, to show off his dancing and the sexuality that didn’t have to be blatant. He was getting back to his roots. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that?” Dallas asked, looking at him. “I thought you were going to do that construction worker thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanted new shit, Dallas. I’m giving you new shit,” Derek said, pushing past him. He walked to the edge of the stage, getting the last few glimpses of Scott’s cowboy gig, the same one he had been doing every night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Derek had to hear that country song one more time, he was going to punch someone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it was finally his turn, the thrumming beat of his new song lit his body on fire, making him feel excited for the first time in a while to perform, to really perform. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(The last time he felt this excited was when Stiles was watching, but only because it was Stiles, the cute guy who had wandered into the bar. Derek wanted to impress him so badly.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek had started as a street dancer, break dancing on a cardboard mat for change out near the beach, hoping that people had it in their hearts to support him as a dancer. Tonight, he was going back to his routes, but adding a fun element into it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was shoving it all in Dallas’ face. Showing him why he was hired, and why women came back night after night for him. He was pulling out all the stops, the hip thrusts and the grinds, all to make it clear that he belonged. He flexed as he moved into a head spin, his abs clenching tight and showing off his body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was all worth it for the loudest screams and the most money Derek had seen in weeks. He was Mr. Magic, and damn straight he was the best one at the club. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek didn’t really want to get attached, or hooked, or whatever. He wanted to keep things light and airy, but it seemed as if Stiles really didn’t do that. </p>
<p>He might be willing to be serious, if it meant having Stiles.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's finally finished! Sorry for taking a long time to write this final chapter, but it was so hard to convey everything I wanted to, and I kept changing scenes leading up to the end. But now it's done. Expect an epilogue at some point in the future, when I feel like diving deep into this AU again. </p>
<p>Thanks for all the readers who have stuck along with me! I really appreciate any comments and kudos. </p>
<p>All the love &lt;3</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://rain-or-clouds.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stiles was not particularly attached to his job, or Tampa. Neither were things he had anticipated for his life, and neither were concepts that were permanent in his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was a California boy, and the humid and hot weather of Florida was nothing like what he expected. He hated the city, he hated the weather, and he hated the threat of hurricanes. At least in California there were only earthquakes and the occasional forest fire. In Florida, the ocean was trying to reclaim the land. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, when he was pulled into his boss’ office on a Thursday afternoon, he could feel the bad energy. He knew that his time was up. Somehow, being fired from this job was the easiest thing that Stiles had ever done. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went home in a sort of trance, his cardboard box of things under one arm. He barely even noticed Derek’s truck parked outside of their apartment building, and he wasn’t expecting to see him and Scott playing video games on the couch when he arrived home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’re you doing here?” Scott asked, eyes focused on the tv, biting his lip as he shot at whatever enemy on screen. He was barely paying attention to Stiles, let alone the box under his arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek looked up and he immediately knew. He stood, setting his controller down, and crossed the room. “You okay?” he whispered, taking the box from Stiles’ hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stiles whispered back, shrugging. “Inevitable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek nodded at this, crossing the room to put the box on the dining table. He rounded the corner into the kitchen, Stiles trailing after him. When they were alone, with some semblance of privacy, he pulled Stiles into a hug, his strong arms wrapping tightly around Stiles’ shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s so stupid. I hate being here, and it all feels so easy, but it’s the impending future that has me all out of whack,” Stiles said, letting his head rest on Derek’s shoulder. “I have nothing tying me to Tampa anymore, now that y’all are going to Miami.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles didn’t want to think too hard about that, to think about being left behind. It was hard enough as is, to have such a strong connection to a theoretically transient people, but now everyone except Lydia was going to Miami, and he was suddenly going to be out of friends and out of luck. Picking up some shitty job here was not something he was interested in. He might as well move back in with his dad and Melissa back home, just to save some money. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re going to leave?” Derek asked, his voice rumbling through Stiles’ chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I might go back to California. I might move to Miami. I don’t know yet. But I know that I hate Florida,” Stiles said, sighing, letting himself relax into Derek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’re you guys doing?” Scott called from the living room, the sound of explosions coming from the tv. “I swear, if you’re not making Hot Pockets, I’m gonna be mad,” Scott added. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles broke away from Derek, smoothing his hands over his face. “Sorry to be like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can trust me, you know,” Derek said, opening up the freezer to grab the Hot Pockets. “I trust you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I trust you to. I just don’t know how much longer I can stay in Tampa, or even Florida, when I don’t have many ties here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about Scott?” Derek asked, gesturing with his head towards the living room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s a big boy, and he needs to grow up, I think,” Stiles said, shrugging. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get some drinks tonight, yeah? Celebrate leaving that shit job,” Derek said, smiling. When Stiles didn’t immediately seem into it, Derek pushed at his shoulder, jostling him. “C’mon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, some sad drinks for tonight. For the end of an era,” Stiles said, scuffing his feet on the ground. He ducked his head to hide the small smile that was forming on his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So maybe they were lying to themselves. Derek and Stiles specifically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were both most of the way to being shitfaced, with Scott and Allison already making out in the hallway to the bathroom, when they looked at each other. They stared, unabashedly, for several long moments, watching each other’s faces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re kinda cool,” Stiles said, knocking his elbow into Derek. He laughed and sipped at his beer, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t think you’d be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, leaning towards Stiles. “You didn’t think I’d be cool? You think a stripper is going to be a total dweeb,” Derek said, raising his eyebrows in question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah,” Stiles said, shrugging half heartedly. “I thought that maybe you were going to be fun and kind of a dick, but you’re cool.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So the great Stiles Stilinski thinks I’m cool,” Derek said, smirking at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wear it like a badge of honor,” Stiles snarked, kicking at Derek’s feet under the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kind of wanted to. There was nothing more Derek wanted than the blatant approval from Stiles and the attention from him that he craved. If Stiles was paying any attention to him, he felt good under his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In this shitty bar lighting, Stiles looked beautiful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek didn’t really want to get attached, or hooked, or whatever. He wanted to keep things light and airy, but it seemed as if Stiles really didn’t do that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He might be willing to be serious, if it meant having Stiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s up? You’re being quiet,” Stiles said, leaning forward, bringing their faces closer together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thinking about how pretty you are,” Derek said quietly, leaning forward to bump their noses together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles laughed a rich, belly laugh. “Alright, Romeo, I think you’re done for the night if I look pretty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, you are,” Derek said, reaching out to trace his fingers along Stiles’ arm. “I think you’re beautiful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks. You’re not half bad yourself,” Stiles teased, reaching up to cup Derek’s jaw. He leaned in and pecked Derek on the lips, almost too fast to see. When he pulled back, he looked surprised, as if he wasn’t sure of his own actions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He seemed to shake himself out of his stupor, standing and moving away from Derek. “Let’s get loverboy home before he impregnates her. I’m too young to be a father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek followed him, knowing that if Stiles asked, Derek would follow him anywhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek was trying to get a good night’s rest. The after performance partying had sort of lost it’s appeal, particularly without Stiles there most of the time. He didn’t really want to go schmooze some drunk college girls when the guy he wanted was already at home, sleeping because he was a normal guy with a normal sleep schedule. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which was why Derek was particularly annoyed when the sound of his phone ringing woke him up. Glancing at the time it was nearly 4am, two hours after he had left the club. It was some unknown number calling, but with a number coming in this late, there was a good reason to answer it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” Derek asked sleepily, closing his eyes and laying back in his bed. He could hear the rustle of some indoor place, but couldn’t place any of the noise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, sorry to call you this late,” Scott said, his voice coming through clear. “I have a huge favor to ask of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A DUI?” Derek asked, crossing his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The arresting officer looked bored, as if this was what she did all the time. She reached behind her towards her desk, grabbing the paperwork. “A DUI. He was drunk as a skunk, and driving some flashy new truck. We caught him weaving down the street, nearly moving into the way of oncoming traffic. He clipped a light pole and jumped onto the sidewalk. And don’t even get me started on the fact that he’s underage,” the officer said, raising an eyebrow at Derek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what’s the next step here?” Derek asked, his brow furrowing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is his second DUI, and no judge is really going to want him to get a third. His bail is set at $10,000,” the officer said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck. This kid was fucking expensive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where do I go to pay that? I have that much in cash right now,” Derek said, looking around as if there was some sort of sign. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have that much cash? This kid is lucky as all hell,” the officer said, rolling her eyes. “Go to the processing counter and they’ll direct you from there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek followed the instructions, and after a bit of paperwork, he traded his $10,000, his startup money, for Scott. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched all of his dreams of owning a business slip down the drain as Scott stumbled out of the doorway, looking hungover as hell and pretty worse for wear. He watched his $10,000 puke into a garbage can and unashamedly wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, I’m hungover,” Scott said, rubbing his eyes against the light of the hallway. “Thanks for bailing me out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You owe me $10,000, Scott. Why the hell did you drive drunk when you already have a DUI?” Derek asked, smacking his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott merely shrugged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, they impounded your car, so you’ll have to sort that out. Let’s get you fucking home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The drive home was tense, with Derek angry and frustrated while a pathetic, hungover Scott was sitting in the passenger seat, window down in case he felt the urge to puke again. He didn’t say anything about the money, and Derek wasn’t going to bring it up again. He was seriously pissed at the fact that Scott, knowing the consequences, decided that driving while drunk was a good idea. Even Derek made sure to take a cab or Uber when he was too drunk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking up to the front door of Scott and Stiles’ apartment, Scott started to shrink into himself, as if he were a dog awaiting punishment. He ducked his head and hid half behind Derek, wiping the dried drool off of his cheek and swatting at his hair, as if that was going to make his appearance any better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek knocked three times on the door and then stepped aside, letting Stiles open up the door to his delinquent brother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You motherfucker,” Stiles said, grabbing Scott’s arm and hauling him inside. He smacked the back of his head and pushed him towards the couch, forcing him to sit for what presumably would be a lecture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Stiles. I did the best I could,” Derek said, shrugging, trying to find some way to apologize for the entire situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you the one apologizing? I should be sucking your dick by now based on how incredibly generous and kind you are. I can’t believe you paid a cash bail,” Stiles said, leaning on the door jamb. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had to. He’s like family,” Derek said, shrugging. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s going to pay you back every penny,” Stiles said, pressing his lips tight together. “With interest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t really matter now, does it? I can’t get a loan, and I don’t have any money anymore,” Derek said, shaking his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was your furniture business money?” Stiles asked, his eyes widening. “Fuck, Derek, I’ll help you get your money back. Blame Scott, kick his ass, whatever, I just want to make sure you get your money back—” Stiles started, his hands flying around him nervously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stiles, it’s okay. It’ll work out,” Derek said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, that’s why Scott was shipped down to Tampa to live with me in the first place. He got a DUI and lost his football scholarship. Our parents were so mad, they made sure he came down to live with me. And now I’ve fucked you up to,” Stiles said, shaking his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not your fault,” Derek said, reaching out and grabbing Stiles’ hand, squeezing it briefly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I owe you,” Stiles said quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you, Stiles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing about Scott is that he has gumption, heart, and a keen sense of how to be the ultimately good guy in pretty much any scenario. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other thing about Scott is that he is a forgetful piece of shit who somehow managed to forget his </span>
  <em>
    <span>court hearing</span>
  </em>
  <span> for his stupid goddamned DUI. That kid straight up </span>
  <em>
    <span>forgot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek was practically fuming as he stood in the courtroom, his suit jacket ill fitting and his shirt pressed nicely underneath. He was sweating just standing there looking at the judge, her stern eyes looking back at him sharply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He said he would be here,” Derek said, fiddling with his fingers, his hands clasped in front of him. He wanted so badly to smack Scott, to shake him, make him understand what a big deal this was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek had put a lot on the line for Scott. He had put his own job on the line, practically lined him up to get a huge cut of the new Miami place, and he had given his life savings to bail him out for a second DUI count. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s a no show. I’m going to put a warrant out for his arrest, and the bail money will not be returned at this time. Dismissed.” With one bang of the gavel, Scott’s case was in the hands of law enforcement, and in the hands of Scott. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek tried to keep his cool as he left the courthouse, but the second he got in his truck he slammed his hands against the steering wheel, frustration tears starting to form in his eyes. He was so frustrated and angry at Scott, at the way he had been used. Scott was still a kid, but he was also an adult. He knew what he was doing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dialed up Stiles, putting the phone on speaker as he started to drive home. After a few rings, he picked up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” Stiles said tiredly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Scott didn’t show to the court hearing. There’s a warrant for his arrest now,” Derek said, gripping the steering wheel as he drove. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, Der. Because he’s here, drunk as a skunk. He drove here, for chrissakes. While drunk. He literally can’t learn his lesson,” Stiles said, sounding equally frustrated. “I’d kick his ass, but I don’t think he’d understand while drunk. I have to wait until he sobers up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Derek said in response, not quite sure how to even answer that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He owes you, Derek. I’m going to march him down to the courthouse first thing when he sobers up, and he owes you. Fuck, Derek, you deserve much better than to be used like this,” Stiles said, voice quieting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine. We’ll work it out,” Derek said, even though it didn’t feel fine. It didn’t feel like it would work out at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is what he did to our parents, around this time last year. He was 18 about to start his first year of college when he got a DUI. He didn’t show up in court because he was partying with his friends, and he lost his scholarship. Scott really knows how to ruin his own life,” Stiles said, sighing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was all so fucked, and Derek felt bad for Stiles. Dealing with this whole thing was bad for both of them, in such different ways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tomorrow’s the last show, Stiles,” Derek said, rubbing his hand over his face. “Scott’s not going to miss that, even if he’s supposed to be in jail for this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles sighed heavily. “He’s a grown adult though,” Stiles said, repeating Derek’s own thoughts. “All we can do is try to help him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was trying to take care of him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek, I know you were. I know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles hung up after that, leaving Derek’s car silent for the rest of the ride home. The silence was strangely welcome, in the face of the chaos inside of Derek’s brain. He had so much he wanted to think about, to mull over, and so little time to figure anything out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Scott finally woke up, it was late that night. The sun had set, and the apartment was lit only with a few sparing lamps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles had been packing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had called his parents, asking if they could take him back, only temporarily until he found a job and housing in California. They had quickly agreed, asking about Scott. He gave them very minimal details, knowing that they didn’t even know about the striping, but that they needed to call him. This was Scott’s cross to bear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, leaving Tampa was so much more exciting than arriving. The city was not what Stiles wanted, and somehow he had a feeling it was not what a certain someone else wanted either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott stumbled into the bathroom, and by the time he stumbled back out, Stiles was waiting. Standing there with his arms crossed, Stiles was waiting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Scott said, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “Did I sleep all day?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You missed the hearing,” Stiles said firmly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Scott, you missed the hearing and now there’s a warrant out for your arrest,” Stiles said, trying to show him the severity of the situation. “That means guaranteed jailtime, Scott,” Stiles added, looking at him expectantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Scott said, shrugging. “Tomorrow’s the final show so that’ll have to wait,” Scott said, crossing to the fridge. He got out a carton of orange juice and drank straight from the container, a bit of it dripping down his chin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you not understand Scott? Are we really going through this again? And what about Derek?” Stiles asked, his arms flailing as if that could encompass the entirety of the situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about Derek?” Scott asked, brow furrowing in confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Siles wanted to scream in frustration. “The money. That he lent you. For bail. That he’s now for sure not getting back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said I’d pay him back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not the point, Scott!” Stiles burst out, wanting to smack Scott. “He put his career on the line for you, and this is how you repay him? He showed up to court for you, because it was his money and you’re his charge, and you still could not figure it out? This is a big deal!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll figure it out, I always do,” Scott said, shrugging. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But this time, you’re hurting Derek as you do it. It’s not fair,” Stiles said, crossing his arms again, holding his hands tight against his side so that he didn't’ do something he would regret. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He understands.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You took his life savings to have a drunk joyride in your truck, only to do it again before your hearing. That is so fucked for him. Why would you do that to Derek?” Stiles asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Derek this, Derek that. It sounds like you care about him more than you care about me,” Scott said, crossing his arms to mirror Stiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I fucking do, Scott! Because right now, you’re acting like a real piece of shit, and Derek deserves better than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck this, I’m out,” Scott said. He pushed past Stiles, grabbing his keys and walking out the front door before Stiles could stop him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Knowing Scott, he was going to get drunk and do it all over again. He was the kind of person who pushed everything to the limit, and solved all of his problems at the last second. He was not the kind of person who considered others, or was observant enough to know that Stiles had been crushing on Derek since they had first met. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And to think that they had decided to hold back on dating because of Scott, because Derek didn’t want things to move quickly and fuck anything up. But here they were, fucked anyways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles dialed Derek, pacing around the living room with the phone to his ear as he waited for him to pick up. “Hey,” Stiles said as soon as it clicked over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, what’s up?” Derek asked, voice quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m moving back to California. You should know,” Stiles said quickly, words rushing out of his mouth. “I’m packing everything I own in my car and leaving, as soon as next week. The lease is up on the apartment at the end of the month, and I want to get out now before anything else happens,” Stiles rambled on, pacing quickly to try and diminish his nerves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So the final show will really be a final goodbye,” Derek said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe someday, you’ll come out to California? Come visit?” Stiles asked hopefully. He wanted to think that maybe, if the time was right, they could work things out now. They could be together now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re really moving,” Derek said in a low voice, quiet over the phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’m moving to Miami. To further my stripping career,” Derek said, laughing darkly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seems like it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll miss you, Stiles,” Derek said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll miss you too, Derek.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The line went dead, from Derek hanging up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It felt like an ending that neither of them wanted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was supposed to be an exciting night, but all Derek had on his mind was Stiles and getting the hell out of Florida. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had spent his whole life in Tampa, between shitty high school and the many jobs he had after that. He remembered every house he built, every tile he laid, and knew the ins and outs of most of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had danced all over the female population of Tampa and screwed his way through a large chunk of them, all in a desperate search to fill a hole in his heart left when he was a teenager. The screams, the women, they didn’t feel good anymore. The only person he wanted out there was Stiles, and he was going to be gone in a matter of weeks. His lease was up at the end of September, which made their days numbered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay?” Scott asked, smacking Derek on the shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just trying to get focused for the final night,” Derek said, nodding at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was partially true. He was trying to get focused, but he was thinking about anything but dancing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott was an asshole. He had promised to pay back all of that bail money, but since he missed his court hearing, he had been pretending like it never existed. There were going to be repercussions for missing the court hearing, and yet Scott was acting like a little bit of a smile and some charm was going to make everything go away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On top of that, he couldn’t help but replay the conversation Dallas had with Scott. He was offering Scott his share, his 10%, but why? Because Scott was younger? Could dance longer? He knew plenty of guys older than him in the business, and yet he was the one being called out? Sure, he had no plans on being a 40 year old stripper, but he didn’t think he was so ancient that he couldn't’ dance anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His 10% had already been whittled down to a measly 5.5%, which was half of what Dallas was giving Scott. Mr.Magic was the heart and soul of the club, and Dallas was throwing it all away on this young kid persona. It showed Derek how little he cared, and how he wasn’t particularly interested in maintaining relationships that didn’t earn him more money. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had been wanting to do this ever since Dallas offered that percentage to Scott, but he finally had somewhere to go. His whole life was flushed down the drain here, but he had someone who cared about him, who wanted him, who he wanted back. He had someone who he could run to and they would catch him all the same. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without thinking, Derek headed out the back door and out to his car. He was done. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles opened the door, entirely surprised to see Derek standing there, in his Raining Men costume, tears dried on his cheeks. “Der?” Stiles asked, looking him up and down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we talk?” Derek said, leaning against the door frame. He swallowed thickly, ducking his head down. It was the most vulnerable he had ever been around Stiles. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to get vulnerable, which is why Stiles pulled him inside quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Stiles had originally offered himself to talk to, he had anticipated something else. Maybe Derek knocking up some girl, or falling into a drug hole, or just feeling sad. He was not expecting him on his doorstep, post cry, on one of the biggest nights in his potential career. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought the big final show was tonight,” Stiles said, pulling Derek over to the dining set, sitting him down. He quickly took the chair next to him, angling his chair towards him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek dropped his head down into his arms on the table, hiding his face away from Stiles. “It is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This left a lot of questions, but Stiles felt like if he asked them, Derek would not be able to handle it. So he started much easier. “So, why are you here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t do it anymore. Scott’s mess. Dallas fucking me over, just because he can, greedy fuck,” Derek said, lifting his head to look at Stiles. “I want something more than this. I want to get out, live my life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat up completely, wiping his face off with the back of his hand. He looked composed enough, his eyes sobering up and his face evening out again. He looked determined. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got nothing holding me here anymore either,” Derek says, holding his head in his hands. He gripped his hair, pulling a little bit. He wondered if he would regret this decision, would regret leaving Dallas and the club and the Miami opportunity. But, fuck, he did not want to be a 40-year old stripper one day. He wanted his own business and his own life that was separate from what his body looked like. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, you’re moving to Miami,” Stiles said, frowning as if he was missing something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going to Miami anymore. I quit,” Derek said, lifting his head to look up at Stiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? You quit?” Stiles asked, grabbing Derek’s hand as if it were a lifeline. “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to be stripping when I’m old. I want a different job, a solid relationship, and to get the hell out of Florida while I still can,” Derek said, gripping onto Stiles’ hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about your money? And Scott?” Stiles asked, looking at Derek, holding on as if it were the only thing he could do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to go with you back to California, see the beaches you talked about. I want to be with you,” Derek said, tipping forward until their foreheads were pressed together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But we barely know each other,” Stiles said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you don’t have a job,” Stiles argued.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’d be leaving Scott, and you’d be leaving your home,” Stiles continued. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s do it anyways,” Derek said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He surged in and kissed Stiles, finally relishing in his taste. He wanted to kiss him all summer, wanted to be doing this instead of playing it safe, and he couldn’t believe that he was finally able to. That he was finally able to hold him like he wanted to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles slipped his fingers into Derek’s hair, grabbing him and hauling him closer. He wanted everything that he had been waiting for. It was nearly three months of sexual tension built up, and damn, Stiles wanted to push things over the edge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is such a bad idea,” Stiles murmured, breaking away from Derek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek licked kisses down Stiles’ neck, sliding his hands underneath Stiles’ shirt, searching for more skin to skin contact. He didn’t seem like he was interested in ramifications. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have a lot of faith in me,” Stiles added, scratching down Derek’s back with blunt nails. He savored the way that Derek moaned into his skin, knowing that this was just a preview. It had all been just a preview, and he knew how Derek could move his hips. Just the thought of Derek’s hips and moves was getting Stiles hard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, okay? We’ll figure it out when we get there,” Derek said, reaching up and hauling Stiles into another kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Being with Derek had always felt like falling. Falling into the wild lives of the strippers, falling into the club scene. Even now, kissing him felt like falling in love. And he was ready to dive in deep</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>